Love Thy Neighbour
by Autumn Butterfly
Summary: Malintus Ancus muses on the unfortunate circumstances which led to the Champion of Cyrodiil moving into town.


Unfortunately for me, you can't pick your neighbours.

I first met him one balmy night while enjoying a glass of Surilie 319 at The Grey Mare. Reynald Jemane was hiccuping just loudly enough to drown out Valus' incessant pleads for assistance, as his sons had now been waiting for him at the city gate for nigh on a month (the guards keep giving them token sandwiches and sips of water, but they're determined to stick it out until some bold hero sweeps in and saves their farm). I was pleasantly tipsy, minding my own business, when the tavern door was flung open by the grungiest Imperial I'd ever accidentally sighted. He reeked of the sewers, and immediately demanded directions to Weynon Priory. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen the priory, but it is the biggest, brightest building on the Black Road. How he'd missed it I'll never know. Anyway, after being told he should wait until morning, he immediately set off to butter up the Countess for the biggest damn house in town. And that's the unfortunate tale of how I became neighbours with Socially Tenacious Extravagant Void of Empathy. Or Steve, for short.

I ignored the first signs that all was not well with the newest member of our community. Strange as it was finding him on the roof 'practising', or watching him breath down the night guard's necks as he stalked them in an attempt to 'blend in', I merely dismissed him with a quizzical brow. He was a respected member of the Fighter's Guild, and a guy can have a few quirks, right? Right?

Wrong.

There was the time the old fool collapsed on my rug. At midnight. Being woken up by something whimpering outside, I'd opened the door to be assaulted by a grown Imperial man clinging to my nightshirt, howling something about goblins, sheep, and tree sap. Upon making the startling discovery that I was not a certain mohawk-bearing Dunmer, he untangled himself from my sopping shirt and dragged himself across the way to Modryn's place. Wrong house, troll fat. But I shoulda known Valus' wailing would send someone over the edge eventually.

Then there's his passion for barrels. Seriously, he goes nuts for them. I've caught him rummaging through them right in front of the Watch. As if there's nothing odd about ransacking public property in the middle of the town square. He once fished a lettuce outside Seed-Neeus' shop and sold it right back to her. If I made money half as easily, you wouldn't find me living near this mad hatter.

I once chatted to the Odiil brothers on the way into town (the dimwitted fools were still waiting for someone to rescue them) when I caught he and Dar-Ma sneaking around the stables. He immediately launched into a tale of secret trap doors and underground cults in Hackdirt, and something about blossoms and sacrifices, when it was plain as day they'd just been looking for a quiet spot. What did he think I was going to do, report him? Everyone knows the guard captain is the same way with Emfrid.

But here comes the real icing on the cake.

I heard from a friend in Skingrad he was caught armed and covered in blood standing over some Bosmer's corpse. And the guard's response? "Oh, someone killed him. But he was a loony, so there's no reason to hold an investigation. Besides, there aren't any suspects." Now, hang on a minute. If I went on a rampage and slaughtered an armada of mentally questionable individuals, I'd be rotting in the castle dungeon before you could say 'criminal scum'. But no, if someone who keeps an armory of warhammers in his pockets bashes in the skull of some unarmed elf and drags the mangled body into the street, then it's home free. He got told off for unsheathing his sword, but not, incidentally, for forcefully and maliciously embedding it into the sinew, skull and grey matter of an innocent civilian out for a stroll. Did I mention the victim's house key was missing? Anyway, not ten minutes later the Tyrrany of Tamriel himself was seen scurrying up the street, gleefully clutching a wastepaper basket. And I hear the Countess has appointed this pinnacle of justice as her detective.

Love thy neighbour, friend.

Maybe the Odiil brothers have the right idea, waiting for a hero. Because frankly, the justice system sucks.


End file.
